Yours,

M. W.

Jeeves was standing holding out the fiver, which had fluttered to the floor.

“You’d better stick to it,” I said. “It seems to be for you.”

“Sir?”

“I say that fiver is for you, apparently. Miss Wardour sent it.”

“That was extremely kind of her, sir.”

“What the dickens is she sending you fivers for? She says you saved her life.”

Jeeves smiled gently.

“She overestimates my services, sir.”